


Backstage

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-02-25
Updated: 1999-02-25
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: An excerpt from a story I may never get to finish at this rate :)





	Backstage

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Backstage

## Backstage

by Catalina Dudka

* * *

This story is written for the private entertainment of fans. No infringement of any copyrights held by Due South c/o Alliance is intended. This story is not published for profit, and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced for profit. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal by the creation of this story. 

Rated R - m/f - Erotica / PWP 

Backstage  
(by Catalina Dudka - Copyright 1997) 

From the edge of the crammed dance floor, he watched her. Through the haze of cigarette smoke and dry ice mist, he watched her. Ben's eyes followed her every move across the stage. The heavy beat of the music, the husky sound of her voice thrummed through him ... and he remembered. How she had made his blood sing. How he had made her moan. It had been a month, a very long month, since the day he woke to find Morgan gone. 

Their last song almost at an end, Morgan cast a searching look over the crowd, but he was not there anymore. Taking their bows, she and the rest of the band descended from the stage. Morgan didn't know how to feel. Would he have left? Just like that? She had sensed his presence earlier, and had almost faltered when her silver gaze became ensnared by the dark heat in his eyes. "Why?" He seemed to be asking, but she had no answer he would understand ... and now he was gone. 

Running slender fingers through her short, sweat-dampened hair, Morgan declined jovial offers for one-more-for-the-road. Alone, she proceeded down the narrow backstage corridor to what was loosely referred to as a dressing room. She rounded a corner, her mind reeling between relief and disappointment at Ben's choice not to confront her. Suddenly, her musings were put to an immediate end by a firm grip on her wrist. She was pulled into a dark room, the door closed, and overhead light flared to reveal the dinky backstage bathroom ... and Ben. 

Despite the apprehension, her heart leapt at the longed for sight of him, at icy blue eyes full of questions, full of dark promises. It had taken all her will power to keep away. She had tried and failed to forget the perfection of him. For a whole month she'd denied herself, knowing the futility of it, knowing he'd catch up to her, and she'd be lost once more. 

"Ben, I ..." Morgan tried to explain but her words were erased by a rush of breath as he gripped her leather jacket and pushed her back against the rough cement wall. His hard body pressed against her, and his unrelenting mouth descended before she could even think to protest. Taking full advantage of her parted lips, his tongue invaded and conquered. Morgan surrendered, sighing at the unforgettable taste of him, of his lust, of his anger. 

Her lips beneath his, her body against his. It felt so good, even better than he remembered. At the sound of her sigh, he pulled back, using all his will to slow his rapid breath, to school his features. He'd show her, she _had_ to know where she belonged. 

Ben watched as her expressive, quicksilver eyes betrayed confusion, and desire. Yanking her jacket down to pin her arms at her side, he forestalled any questions by pressing calloused fingers to her kiss-bruised lips. His touch trailed down, the column of her throat, across delicate collarbones, to roughly palm her breasts. Her gasp thrilled through him, as did the pebble-hard nipples pushing against the centre of his hands. He delighted in the play of emotion across her face, in the rosy flush that deepened as his touch continued down waist, belly, hips. 

Leaning against her, so that he could feel her breasts flatten against his chest, Ben reached further down her thighs. His eyes bore into hers while he pulled up the long skirt of her dress. When touch became skin on skin, and his fingers slid up under her panties to knead the firm softness of her bottom, he couldn't resist the urge to rock his hips against hers. 

Morgan didn't even try to fight the sensations he created. Not even the continued impassivity of his face could quench the desire he aroused. Defenceless beneath his touch, she inhaled sharply when her thigh was lifted and braced with his jean-clad knee. And when his hand shifted round to cup the core of her, she could do nothing but moan with longing and frustration at not being able to touch him back. She ached to feel him within, to savour him, to bring him to this same fever pitch. 

Ben's body hardened further at her sounds of pleasure and yearning. His control wavered when her back arched, her hips rubbed against his hand, and moistness seeped through her undergarment. Triumph coursed through him. Now she'd know how much she needed him, that she belonged in his arms. 

Allowing himself a small satisfied smile, he continued to caress her. A tug at his belt surprised him, and an involuntary groan rumbled up from his chest as Morgan's hand brushed over the bulge of his arousal. Instinctively his hips pushed against her hand as she rubbed him through his jeans. 

"Please, Ben ..." She pleaded breathlessly as her fingers tried to undo his belt. 

The hunger in her voice was more temptation then he could resist. With his free hand, Ben pushed his jeans down. His sigh at being released turned to a hot gasp as her long, cool fingers wrapped round his erection. 

At last! At last she could touch him. Stroking the length of him, Morgan was rewarded by the deep bass of his pleasure. His own fingers continued to work their magic, so that every nerve ending resonated with delight. The pressure inside lifted her higher and higher. Throwing her head back, she could resist no longer and allowed the rapture to engulf her. 

Ben felt Morgan's body shudder against him and the last thread of his control snapped. With one swift exchange, he tore away her panties and buried himself inside her. He felt her body accept him, welcome him, and he groaned against her breast as she pulsated around him. Open-mouthed he inhaled deeply the scent of her, an elixir he had been too long without, and moved his hips in a powerful, ever-increasing rhythm. 

Moaning his name over and over, Morgan was helplessly suspended on a crest of ecstasy between the wall at her back, and his molten, hard thrusts. His rapture vibrated through her, intensifying her own tenfold. Wrapping long legs round his hips, she could do nothing but ride the crescendo that built between them. Digging her fingers into his shoulders, she held on for dear life and the world exploded. 

Her whispery voice shimmered over his damp skin. Ben's back arched as the here and now burst apart ... then rushed back in an instant that lasted forever. 

The scent, the heat, the enchantment of her filled him. His mouth closed over hers again, and drunk with the taste of her, he held her oh so tight. 

"Never leave me again." He begged, ordered, demanded between kisses. 

And all Morgan could do was kiss him back. 

The end 


End file.
